


what matters most is how you bring joy to life

by futuresoon



Category: Persona 5
Genre: First Time, Hair Pulling, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, third semester Akechi isn't interested in being polite or heterosexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuresoon/pseuds/futuresoon
Summary: Akechi makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, please,” he says. “You’re the one who invited me here. What were you hoping for? An evening of polite conversation and nonalcoholic beverages with the mass murderer who killed your friends’ parents and tried to kill you?”“…maybe?” Akira says weakly.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 28
Kudos: 865





	what matters most is how you bring joy to life

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "No More What Ifs".

Akira watches Akechi take a sip of coffee. He knows it’s good, he’s practiced enough times that even Sojiro gave his approval, and it does its job in the Metaverse, but Akechi’s never had any of his before. Hell, the only other times he’s served coffee in Leblanc itself were those summer hangouts a couple months ago, when he…wasn’t as good, and Metaverse coffee is always a little on the lukewarm side. So forgive him for being nervous. 

Akechi swallows, and smiles. With his eyes, even. “This is delicious,” he says. “I’m afraid I’m not enough of a coffee connoisseur to know the exact descriptors, but I think ‘full-bodied’ is one of them? At any rate it’s far more flavorful than what they serve at the police station.”

“I hope so,” Akira says with a smile of his own, feeling warm for a lot of reasons. “I’m still not as good as Sojiro, but he’s been doing this a lot longer than I have.”

“You must be a quick study,” Akechi says. He takes another sip. “Do you have any plans to pursue it after graduation? It’d certainly be a waste to deny the world your talents.”

Akira rests his elbows on the counter. “I honestly have no idea,” he says. “Maybe? Sojiro says it’s a rough business to break into.” Although given how well thieving pays, that might not be a problem.

There’s a nice little fantasy, actually. Coffee shop owner by day, Phantom Thief by night. Serving justice and pourovers with equal measure. He pictures himself a handful of years older, in another quiet corner of Tokyo, listening to people lament their problems over a fresh cup and maybe collecting some names here and there. His other friends, happy and successful with their own careers, stopping by between missions. Akechi coming over after a long day at work, relaxing in the calm atmosphere and smiling just like this.

It’s a lot more realistic than most of his fantasies involving Akechi, so Akira decides to hold onto it.

“Well, let me know if you start your own store,” Akechi says. “I’ll try to be the first in line.”

 _There’s no way he’s not doing this on purpose,_ Akira thinks. _All the outings, the texts, coming to Leblanc, he absolutely knows what it looks like and he’s doing it anyway._ Frankly, on the surface it has a shoujo manga vibe; ordinary person coincidentally meets a cute celebrity and somehow draws their attention despite not doing very much, then the enthralled celebrity decides to spend time with them and one thing leads to another. 

Except Akira isn’t an ordinary person, and neither is Akechi. And while Akira would like to believe that he’s just so naturally charming Akechi fell for him at first sight, well…pancakes.

But it’s been _months._ And Akechi’s just been friendly and attentive and polite. If he has an evil plan, he’s awfully slow with it.

Akira doesn’t have any concrete guesses as to what Akechi’s deal is, exactly. So for now--it’s okay, right now, to be happy. To smile back and enjoy their outings and try not to stare too much at Akechi’s lips. It’s okay.

Akira walks around the counter, sits down on the chair next to Akechi’s. “What’re your own plans, anyway?” he asks. “Go from teen detective to adult detective?”

“I’m actually not sure yet,” Akechi admits. “I’ve applied to some colleges. I might take some time off for that, major in something interesting and low-paying since I’ll already have a job lined up. History, perhaps, or literature.”

“I would’ve figured criminology,” Akira says. 

Akechi laughs. It’s a warm, pleasant sound. “You and everyone else who asks me that question,” he says. “But no, I’ve learned enough of that. It’d do me good to get out of my comfort zone. Besides, everyone needs a break sometimes. Enough people are concerned about my theoretical burnout as it is.”

Akira, who spends maybe a couple free hours per month not helping someone with their problems, nods and says, “Yeah, I get that.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “Truly?” he asks. “Not to offend, but you never struck me as someone lacking in spare time. Unless there are a few part-time jobs I’m unaware of?”

“Well, those too, but mostly people come to me for help with whatever they’re dealing with,” Akira says. “I like doing it, but it can get a little exhausting sometimes.” Plus the Metaverse, and meeting with everyone to talk about the Metaverse, and trying to keep up with his schoolwork, and…

Akechi gives another warm smile. “Then I’m grateful you spend some of your limited free time with me,” he says.

“I don’t know, I keep waiting for you to ask me for a favor,” Akira says, only mostly joking.

“I assure you, I’m only in this for the pleasure of your company,” Akechi says, not breaking eye contact while he takes another sip of his coffee.

There’s probably a lot of ways Akira could respond to that. What he ends up going with is, “Seriously though, if you ever need help with something, let me know. I probably can’t help much with crime stuff, but personal problems are basically my specialty.”

_And if you ever want to talk about, say, pancakes, I’m here. Whenever you’re ready._

“Mm.” Akechi’s gaze is unreadable. “Well. I suppose right now my only ‘personal problems’--” He actually does the finger quotes, which Akira finds strangely endearing, because Akira finds roughly eighty percent of everything Akechi does either strangely endearing or kind of a turn-on. “--are to do with my rapidly dwindling fanbase, and I’m not sure that’s in your wheelhouse.”

“Me, know what it’s like when suddenly everyone hates you? Absurd,” Akira deadpans.

“Aha, perhaps you’re right about that,” Akechi says with a small smile. “Nevertheless, it’s something I’d rather handle myself. But the offer is appreciated.”

“Guess I’ll have to settle for keeping you caffeinated,” Akira says brightly. 

Akechi closes his eyes and takes a long, slow drink of coffee, seemingly savoring every drop. Akira’s maybe a little transfixed by the movements in his throat. When he’s finished, he opens his eyes again and says, smiling, “I certainly have no objections there.”

Suddenly, Akira feels buoyed by a rush of delight. He can’t help it; he grins wide, eyes crinkling at the edges, big and bright and shameless. It looks goofy, but he doesn’t care--he’s just so _happy_ right now, here in this warm corner of the world, with Akechi sitting next to him and seeming happy to be there. Everything’s just _nice._ He didn’t know nice could feel this good.

And for just a couple seconds, Akechi looks…thrown.

Off-kilter. Uncertain. Like he doesn’t quite know how to react.

But it’s just a couple seconds, and then he smiles pleasantly again and says, “Good to see you’re enjoying yourself, at least.”

Akira rests his chin on his hand. “I just like spending time with you,” he says, and doesn’t care if it comes out weird.

For a moment, Akechi just looks at him. Fondly? Not unhappily. No, there’s definite fondness, just a bit tamped-down. For some reason, that just makes Akira feel even warmer.

Then he glances down at his watch. “Oh dear,” he says. “I’ve had a good time as well, but I really must be going. I don’t want to miss my train.”

Akira rises from his seat. “I’ll walk you to the station,” he says, hoping to hold on to the evening for a few minutes more, soak in the good feeling as long as he can.

Akechi shakes his head. “I’m afraid I have to make a call on the way,” he says. “I’ll see you later, Kurusu.”

“If you’re sure,” Akira says, slightly deflated. But Akechi’s smiling again as he leaves, so it’s not that bad.

Even as Akira cleans up the dishes and puts them away, the warm feeling remains. On impulse, he texts Akechi-- _It was really good to see you! I hope we can meet again soon--_ and isn’t bothered when he doesn’t get an immediate response; Akechi did say he would be busy.

 _Everything’s_ good. The team’s doing well, his grades are good, he’s making great progress in every aspect of his life. As he gets into bed and starts to drift off, the memory of Akechi’s almost-fond expression stays with him.

And if everything goes well, Okumura should have a change of heart tomorrow.

\---

A lot of things happen, after that.

\---

It’s sort of a comfort that the jazz club doesn’t seem to have changed any. It was already a nice place, and Akira never paid much attention to what the other customers were saying, so there’s no distracting patter of how lovely life is. Even the singer is still performing something low and melancholy. Just like it was before, it’s a calming little oasis in the chaos of his life.

It’s maybe made a little less calming by the murderer sitting across from him sipping a glass of something green and bubbly, but that one’s on Akira.

He’s not entirely sure why he invited Akechi here. This new Akechi is…well, different from the first one he knew, of course, but also different from the crazed, desperate killer from Shido’s Palace. He’s much more…in control. Even in combat, when he, uh, seems to be enjoying himself, he doesn’t feel truly _dangerous_ to anyone except the Shadows. Outside the Metaverse, he’s brusque and cold and seems incapable of giving a fuck, but he’s not that bad, really.

Except for how he’s still very much a murderer. A different demeanor won’t change that. Even a change of heart wouldn’t actually change that. No matter what Akechi does now, or how he acts, or any revelations about his past, the things he did can’t be undone.

But Akira invited him here anyway, and he said yes anyway, and--

And that coat and scarf’s a good look on him. Akira’s allowed to be stupid sometimes, okay?

“You haven’t touched your drink,” Akechi observes.

“Oh--yeah.” It’s the night’s special, the same thing Akechi’s having. Akira didn’t really pay attention to the menu.

Akira tips his glass to his mouth. It tastes fizzy, sharp, bright, kind of like a spicy green lemonade. Akechi watches him and says, right when Akira swallows, “Would your grand scheme in November have changed any if we were fucking?”

Nearby patrons look slightly alarmed as one of the boys at the table by the singer chokes on his drink so severely that he nearly falls off his chair.

Once Akira’s upright again and worried eyes have drifted back away, he wheezes, “Don’t think so.”

“Oh well.” Akechi takes a sip of his drink. “I thought about it, but it was too risky.”

“…would _your_ plan have changed?” Akira asks hesitantly, half-hoping.

Akechi gives him an unimpressed look.

“Right. Yeah.” 

For a while, they just sit in silence, the singer behind them singing something undoubtedly very poetic that Akira can’t pay attention to at all.

Akira has no idea how to handle this conversation. Or any conversation with Akechi these days. There’s twenty different undercurrents to everything either of them says, and it’s hard to keep track. 

Eventually, Akechi says, “If you wanted to now, though, I’d be down.”

He says it like he’s talking about going bowling. Fortunately, Akira’s drink is still on the table.

“That’s, uh,” Akira manages. “Very sudden to bring up?”

Akechi shrugs. “Everything’s boring now,” he says. “And I don’t have a reason to kill you, so whatever. Might as well.”

“I feel like ‘might as well’ is not really a great justification?” Akira says, a little unsteadily.

“What, you want a declaration of undying love?” Akechi snorts and takes another drink. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

 _Maybe not like, undying,_ a small part of Akira says. 

But there’s no way he’s going to say that out loud, so Akira just says, “Man, I really underestimated just how much of your other personality was fake.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “And now that I’m not a nice boy you can take home to mother, I’ve lost my appeal?” he says.

“Well, I didn’t _think_ I was into assholes, so excuse me for still figuring this stuff out,” Akira says drily.

“So _that’s_ not the part that bothers you,” Akechi says. “You can’t _actually_ have expected an epic love story, you’re not turned off by my personality, and a while back you certainly _seemed_ interested. So it’s something else.” He leans back in his seat with a lazy grin. “It’s the murderer thing, isn’t it.”

Akira was trying not to think about it, but. “…Futaba and Haru are my friends,” he says quietly. “You’re not more valuable to me than they are. I’m not going to jeopardize that just for…whatever this is.”

Akechi makes a dismissive gesture. “Oh, please,” he says. “You’re the one who invited me here. What were you hoping for? An evening of polite conversation and nonalcoholic beverages with the mass murderer who killed your friends’ parents and tried to kill you?”

“…maybe?” Akira says weakly.

Akechi gives a long sigh and rubs between his eyebrows. “God, how’d I fuck up bad enough to be defeated by _you,”_ he mutters.

“Just lucky, I guess,” Akira says, and they sit in silence for a while more.

Eventually, Akira says, “Why’d you bring me here, the first time? Back in July. You could’ve invited me anywhere if you just wanted to spy on me, so why here?”

“Equal parts ‘if I have to go somewhere, I’d rather it be somewhere I like’ and ‘heard it was a good date location’,” Akechi replies. He takes a sip of his drink. “Not that that was a date, really, but I wanted to see how you’d react if you thought it was.”

The condensation on Akira’s glass threatens to drip onto his fingers. “I figured I was reading too much into it,” Akira says. “Same with all the other times you invited me out. It didn’t seem all that likely that a male celebrity would try to seduce me in a public place.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “What about a private place?” he asks softly.

Akira keeps his voice steady. The condensation drips lower, brushes against his skin. “Well, you never took me to any of those, so I wouldn’t know,” he says.

“Too risky,” Akechi says. “It was plausible the Detective Prince might go places with a friend, but I was never known for capitalizing on my popularity with women, so being seen bringing a boy back to my apartment might have been suspicious. Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” Akira echoes.

Akechi only smiles.

Suddenly, Akira feels…tired. “Look, do we really have to do the clever back-and-forth thing?” he asks. “Can we just be honest? Neither of us has to hide anything anymore. I don’t know how fun this is for you, but I’m not really enjoying it that much.”

For a good few moments, Akechi doesn’t say anything. His expression is…indiscernible. “All right,” he says, eventually. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know, just…” Akira makes a vague hand gesture that probably doesn’t mean anything. “What do you _want_ from me, Akechi?”

Akechi takes a long sip of his drink while he presumably thinks it over. “I don’t know either,” he says. “I’ve always liked talking to you, even when I didn’t like _you_ very much. I suppose this is just…more of that.”

“It’s not, though,” Akira says. “Okay, what you said just now, that seems like it means you like me _now,_ right? Do you?”

“I dislike you less than I dislike everyone else,” Akechi says airily.

Akira’s grip on his glass tightens. “But what does that _mean?_ Are we friends? Do you _want_ to be friends?”

Akechi gives him a measured look. “Since we’re being honest here, are you asking me all of this because you’re trying to determine if I genuinely want to sleep with you?”

That’s…a question. Akira’s not sure he has an answer for it, but he has to think of _something._ “I guess I’d like to know, yeah,” he says finally. 

Akechi tosses back the rest of his drink and sets it back down on the table, resting his chin on his free hand. “Honesty, huh,” he says. “Well. Yes, then.”

Even though he’s barely touched the fizzy drink, it tingles in Akira’s stomach. He takes a deep breath. “Thanks for telling me,” he says.

“Judging by your reaction, I’d say the feeling isn’t mutual,” Akechi says, his face and voice neutral.

Akira lets go of his glass and folds his fingers together on the table. He resists the urge to look away. “I don’t know,” he says. “If you’d asked me in September, I probably would’ve said yes. But even if I try to come up with some tragic justification for what you did to Futaba’s mom and Haru’s dad, it’s hard to let go of being drugged and beaten half to death. Can you at least tell me you regret any of that?”

Akechi spends a long, long moment silent. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think they’d hurt you as much as they did,” he says. “But I also didn’t really care, because I was going to kill you anyway so it wouldn’t matter. If I had known then that Shido was planning on disposing of me, I wouldn’t have done it, but at the time, the small amount of conflict I felt was far from enough to change my mind.”

Small isn’t none. But does that matter, really?

“Okay,” Akira says quietly. “That’s…pretty much what I expected.”

“And yet here we both are,” Akechi says, gesturing at--the table, or the two of them, or maybe the world in general. “You wanted a friendly chat with your murderer. I’m attracted to my victim. What a pair we make.”

Akira looks at their glasses. “You know, I really wish these weren’t nonalcoholic,” he says.

Akechi actually laughs at that. “So you’d have an easier time talking about your feelings?” he says.

“So I’d have an excuse to be stupid enough to go home with you,” Akira says. “And that too. But mostly what I said.”

The words come out without him thinking about it, like his subconscious wanted to rush them through before his better instincts could stop them. And with it, everything shifts. The conversation goes from something plausibly deniable to frighteningly solid.

“…well, then,” Akechi says, and his voice is almost soft, but not quite. “If it’s an excuse you want, you could tell your cat the jazz club isn’t a good place to talk about the Metaverse so we’re going to my place instead, and then you could conveniently lose track of time until the trains stop running. He’d probably believe it.”

Akira sits very still. It’s a knife-edge of possibility. The sensible option and the…other option, both equally available. 

He could compare the consequences--if he goes with Akechi, he might feel bad about it the next morning. Really bad, even. Ashamed at himself and frustrated with himself and unable to explain to anyone why, and will he be able to look Futaba or Haru in the eye again? If he goes home, he’ll always wonder. He’ll never have any resolution for anything he thinks about Akechi. After Maruki’s deadline, he might not even see Akechi again, if Akechi doesn’t feel like visitors in prison. This might be his last chance.

The pros, then. If he goes home, he…will have a night just like any other night, simple and safe. That’s…pretty much it. It’s more an issue of avoiding negatives than receiving positives.

If he goes with Akechi, he…

A tendril of hesitant desire twists in his stomach. Stupid teenage horniness, whispering things like _don’t you want to try it_ and _everyone says it feels good_ and _haven’t you thought about it._ Or the guiltiest one: _doesn’t it feel good to be wanted like that? To be desired? Isn’t it intoxicating that someone attractive and interesting finds you, a gangly teenager who isn’t nearly as cool as he pretends to be, sexually appealing?_

It’s not that he’s never thought about it--in general, yeah, vague curiosities about celebrities or cute people in school back home, or faceless people in fantasies that were more about the actions than the person. But back home, it hadn’t really seemed like a thing that would happen any time soon. No one seemed all that interested in him. And _definitely_ no one was interested in him this year--the only people who don’t actively avoid him are his friends, and it felt weird to bring attraction into that.

But then there was Akechi. And _now_ there’s Akechi, right here, completely open about his interest, and it’s…a little overwhelming.

‘Interest’. What a polite way to put it. Don’t beat around the bush: here’s someone who _wants to have sex with him,_ age-appropriate and everything, and is offering it _right now._ That fizzy feeling in his stomach grows. The room feels hotter than it did before. 

God, how did he even get here? He’s barely seventeen, he should be--studying, or staying up too late playing video games, not debating whether or not to have a one-night stand with a murderer. 

He’s taking too long to answer.

“You can pretend I seduced you, if that makes it easier,” Akechi says drily. “I’m not opposed to being a corrupting influence.”

Akira exhales. “You’re really pushing for this, huh,” he says.

“You’re the one who brought it up again,” Akechi says, shrugging.

“Could you just…” Akira doesn’t know how to finish that.

“Just what? Make the decision for you? Magically become a good person all your friends will love? You’d have to ask Maruki for that one.”

“Please don’t mention Maruki right now,” Akira says with a grimace.

“I don’t know, maybe you’re looking for something to bring down the mood,” Akechi says. “It’d make the choice a lot easier for you. You seem like you’re hoping for an excuse one way or another, so which would you prefer? Being able to blame me for your own actions, or blaming the state of your life for giving you too strong a conscience?” His tone is light, not particularly condemning; maybe he genuinely doesn’t care. Maybe he’s very good at pretending he doesn’t care.

Akira finally looks away. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he _does_ wish Akechi would make the decision for him. Which is kind of messed up, isn’t it? Because even if Akechi is pretending he doesn’t care one way or the other, there’s really only one option that would benefit him. Making it Akechi’s choice is pretty much saying ‘I know which one I want, but I don’t want to admit that I want it’.

Even just thinking in terms of wanting it is making his palms sweat. He unfolds his hands and doesn’t try very hard to be discreet about wiping them on his jeans, because there’s no way Akechi won’t notice.

Akechi straightens up in his chair and folds his arms together, looking Akira dead in the eye. “Blame whatever you want,” he says. “I’m not going to make this easy for you. This is all on you, fearless leader. If you can muster up the courage to fight a god, you can choose whether or not you want to fuck me.”

Akira’s face heats up in an instant. He glances around the other tables to see if any of them noticed, or if the singer did, but it doesn’t seem like it. Akechi quietly laughs.

“Or the other way around,” Akechi says airily. “But make up your mind first if you want to talk specifics.”

Akira is going to _die._ Which is a really awkward thought to have in the context of Akechi so just _pick one,_ Kurusu. Stop dithering and _say something._

What he finds himself saying is “Okay.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. “Okay what?”

“You _know_ what, let’s just _go,”_ Akira snaps, and stands up, grabbing his bag off the floor.

He can barely hear the nighttime crowds back on the street over how loud his heart is pounding. Morgana appears from wherever it is that he goes, and Akira says something like what Akechi suggested, and that seems good enough for Morgana to flick his tail and archly say something about finding his own way home if Akira’s going to spend any more time with _that guy._ Cats can probably use the subway by themselves, right? It’s fine.

“I’ll call a cab,” Akechi says, pulling out his phone. “I don’t live too far from here, but it’s a bit cold to go for a walk and I don’t particularly feel like taking the train.”

Akira shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to think about justifications. Maybe he just wants to be a stupid horny teenager for once. Maybe he thinks Akechi will be friendlier afterwards and the others will dislike him less. Maybe he really does think Akechi can be fixed, and this is the first step for that.

Maybe thinking about reasons why this is a justifiable thing to do won’t actually change the facts, so he should stop doing it.

The cab pulls up. They get in, and then even the nighttime buzz is gone, and the only noise is Akira’s pounding heartbeat. His fingers dig into his jeans.

He feels something touch his hand, and glances down to see Akechi stroking a gloved thumb over the underside of his wrist. It’s…not calming, exactly, but it’s a little more intimate than he was expecting. Like there’s at least a little more to this than one night of bad decisions.

That helps a bit. But it also lets Akechi know how fast Akira’s pulse is, so it might just be Akechi being weird about feelings. He isn’t even looking at Akira, just idly gazing out the window with no particular expression.

Whatever. Akira signed up for that, apparently.

The cab ride doesn’t take very long, which is good, because the small space feels cramped with the weight of what he’s doing. Akechi’s thumb on his wrist isn’t so much grounding as a constant reminder of what’s happening, and the brief shock of nighttime cold after leaving the club fades away quickly into that overheated feeling again.

The driver pulls up at a very ordinary-looking apartment building. For some reason, Akira expected it to be fancier. Once they’re out of the car and Akechi’s paid, he notices Akira looking up at the building and says, a little wryly, “People who live in attics shouldn’t throw stones.”

Akira shakes his head. “No, it’s just, you have a job, so…” Two jobs, technically. “I kind of figured you’d have the money for something nicer?”

“I’ve never been one for luxury,” Akechi says. “It’s a place to sleep and do homework. And apparently have illicit rendezvous, though I assure you I don’t make a habit of it.”

Akira decides to not think at all about where Akechi’s apparent experience with sex comes from, and follows him into the building.

While they walk, Akechi’s hand slips onto Akira’s lower back. Akira flinches, not actually because of the contact, but because the cab driver can still definitely see them and so can the people on the sidewalk nearby--“There are still people around,” he hisses, trying not to make a big show of it.

“In this reality, we could probably make out in the street and passersby would be happy to see such an affectionate couple,” Akechi says drily. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Oh. Point.” So now that the nerves over being seen are fading, the nerves over the contact rise up in a fizzy surge. The spread of Akechi’s hand against the small of his back feels both unbearably intimate and maybe slightly possessive, and Akira genuinely can’t tell if Akechi is messing with him or just wanted to keep touching him. Maybe both? Maybe Akechi’s actually incapable of expressing affection in a way that can’t be misinterpreted.

Akechi keeps his hand there through the door and into the elevator, which goes up at what seems like an agonizingly slow speed. The contact isn’t even all that much; how’s Akira going to handle the rest of it? _Calm down,_ he tells himself, _you’ll be less nervous once it gets started, you’re great at pretending you can handle every situation that comes your way. Defeated a god, remember? And every other Shadow you’ve ever faced? This is nothing._

That just proves he’s good at facing danger, though. And the smaller-stakes but still important problems of his friends. This is much less dramatic. The consequences for failure, if there even are any, are small and personal; for some reason, that’s…scarier. Like the bigger a problem is, the easier it is to deal with it, and when it’s not big at all…

The elevator finally arrives with a _ding_ and a slightly creaky opening of the doors. The warmth of Akechi’s hand stays on Akira’s lower back even as they walk down the outer hallway and up to a door marked 702, where Akechi finally stops. He hasn’t said a thing this whole way, for whatever reason. Akira hasn’t really looked at his face, either, just the floor and the walls. He wonders what expression Akechi had--more indifference like in the cab, maybe, or the slightest hint of trepidation. Excitement seems unlikely. 

Akechi unlocks the door, and it swings open to reveal…a very ordinary-looking apartment, like the building. After the ‘sleeping and homework’ revelation Akira half-expected it to be completely bare-bones and soulless, but there’s a TV, a love seat, some movie posters, a small bookcase that’s about half-full. A small table with some scattered papers and a couple pens on it. Dishes in the sink, which is strangely delightful. A rolled-up futon, which brings the nerves back full force.

The door closes behind them, and the click as Akechi locks it seems to echo throughout the space. His hand is _still_ on Akira. “So,” he says lightly. His thumb rubs a circle onto Akira’s back. “What are you up for?”

God, they have to _talk about it?_ “Uh,” Akira says eloquently. “Not a lot? I think?”

Akechi’s hand drifts onto Akira’s hip, and now they’re facing each other, the situation finally starting. “That’s a bit vague,” Akechi says.

“You know what I mean,” Akira says. He can feel his face turning red.

“I suppose I do,” Akechi says. “Fair enough. I can work with that.”

Like it’s some kind of business transaction. Akira feels profoundly out of his depth here. But some people are into that, right? But he doesn’t know if Akechi would be. It’s always seemed kind of weird anyway, that inexperience is seen as appealing. He doesn’t feel particularly appealing right now, just anxious and sweaty.

Akechi takes off his scarf and jacket, which seems like a pretty good first step, so Akira follows suit. It all gets hung up in a small closet, which Akira notices has several other jackets in it, some he hasn’t actually seen before. But of course that makes sense. Akechi’s a celebrity, he probably has lots of clothes. It’s not a weird thing to get distracted by. Their shoes stay by the front door, and Akira’s glasses end up on the table.

Akira realizes Akechi’s taking off his gloves, too, and putting them in his jacket pocket. He’s acquired some very specific fantasies about that, but Akechi probably doesn’t know about those. And now Akechi’s unbuttoning his shirt? They’re already doing that? Okay. He kind of thought taking off each other’s shirts would be nice, but--okay. His own shirt comes off faster, though, and he doesn’t really know where to put it. He stands there, shirt in hand, waiting for some kind of sign.

Akechi seems to take pity on him. “Just toss it on the couch, it’s fine,” he says, gesturing towards it. 

“I, uh, thought you’d be a little neater than that?” Akira asks as he does so.

“Miraculously, Maruki seems to have determined that a happy reality for me involves no paparazzi,” Akechi says, discarding his own shirt. “Or upcoming TV appearances, or texts from my agent telling me to go to such-and-such café. Nobody seems concerned about my appearance at all, and so I don’t need to be either. He got one thing right, at least.”

Akira could have guessed that Akechi wasn’t actually into the celebrity deal, but it’s nice to get confirmation. Even if it’s another reminder that things are going to be very different when reality is restored. But he’s not going to think about that. He’s not going to think about anything except what’s happening, and then it’ll be easier.

It’s just that thinking about what’s happening actually isn’t easy either, and his thoughts get caught up on things like _am I sweating too much?_ and _that futon’s right over there huh_ and _is he going to kiss me first, should I kiss him first, is there like a set number of minutes of kissing before anything else happens, it’d probably be weird to ask questions so I shouldn’t._

Oh, Akechi seems to be waiting for something. Should he respond, or--maybe it’s been too long for a response. 

“In any case, there’s better things to think about,” Akechi says, which would probably be a smooth pickup line if it wasn’t delivered like he’s talking about the weather.

They’re both shirtless now, which is sort of exciting and sort of not, because they’ve already seen each other naked that one time in the bathhouse and it wasn’t very sexy at the time. But the context is very different now and it’s socially acceptable to be turned on, so, hey, cute guy who wants to have sex with him is now shirtless, that’s cool. 

Neither of them is especially muscular. All that running around in the Metaverse doesn’t seem to have any effect on their bodies, which Ryuji complained about sometimes, saying it was a better workout than his actual track routine. But Akira’s never found any particular aesthetic appeal to muscles. If Akechi does, he hasn’t mentioned it. He seems fine with the whole ‘glasses and pom-pom on a stick’ look that Akira’s got going on, anyway.

What now? Should Akira take the rest of his clothes off? Akechi isn’t. Akechi’s just kind of looking at him now. Should Akira say something? But if he says the wrong thing, won’t it be weird?

Akechi tilts his head. “You’re _very_ nervous about this, aren’t you,” he says.

It’s not _that_ weird to be nervous, he’s only seventeen. Akira rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve never really done this before, so…” He trails off.

“It’s really not a big deal,” Akechi says, almost dismissively. “It’s just something people do for fun. Don’t worry about it so much.”

_I mean I think for most people it is at least a little bit of a big deal. Or at least I want this to be a little bit of a big deal? Maybe if you don’t think it is I shouldn’t expect it to be. Three months ago I thought about kissing you almost every day but you’d probably laugh if I told you that so I guess it doesn’t matter._

Akira doesn’t say any of that.

Instead he gives what he hopes isn’t a weak smile and says, “Yeah, I guess. I’ll try not to bring down the mood.”

Akechi smiles back. It looks a lot like the one he used in interviews. “All right, then. Let’s continue.”

Akechi takes a step closer. Time seems very still. The last remaining moments before they touch, before maybe not everything but definitely some things change, drag like molasses. And then Akechi is very close, and Akechi’s hand is on his face, and Akira closes his eyes and feels his world quietly shift on its axis as Akechi kisses him.

It’s…about what he expected, when it comes to physical sensation. Warm. Akechi’s lips are soft against his, and it’s not particularly passionate, just a bit slow. Nice, even. Akechi’s other hand slides around his shoulder and pulls him in, and then they’re pressed together, more warmth, more sensation. Akira’s heartbeat had slowed down a little during the conversation but it ratchets back up, and he worries that Akechi can feel it, but if he can then he doesn’t remark on it.

They’re still just standing there. It’s nice, but should they move? There’s a couch, so--well, the futon’s sort of the end goal, isn’t it? But maybe it’s too soon for that. Akira vaguely pictures Akechi pushing him against a wall, and then his brain short-circuits for a couple seconds.

Akira tentatively wraps his arms around Akechi’s back. He’s not sure what else to do with them, and the holding is nice. One of Akechi’s hands slides down to the small of Akira’s back again, only now without layers of clothing in the way, and the slightly possessive press against him sends a thrill up his spine.

It also presses their bodies together even harder, and hey, here’s another first; Akira’s own burgeoning erection is pressed against Akechi’s, and it’s simultaneously exhilarating and very slightly terrifying. Making out is one thing, but--but nothing, they’re doing this, it’s fine. Akira wants it, Akechi wants it, it’s fine.

The kiss grows a little stronger. It’s not forceful, exactly, but Akechi seems to be spurred on more, maybe because of the erection thing, maybe because it’s been a little bit and that’s how it’s supposed to go. It’d probably be easier to just let Akechi have complete control of the situation, right? Akira wouldn’t have to think as much, and Akechi seems to know what he’s doing, so, yeah, that seems like a better idea than endlessly stressing about what to do. A very small part of Akira points out that maybe being at Akechi’s mercy isn’t a great idea. A larger part thinks that’s kind of hot. Akira decides this really isn’t the time to examine that particular psychological minefield. Or any. _Relax,_ Kurusu.

Akechi finally pulls back, and Akira’s eyes open, and he gets a good look at him: a little flushed, breathing a little heavy. It’s sort of comforting to see that he isn’t completely unaffected. “I’ll get the futon,” he says, and he _sounds_ the same--casual, unconcerned, like this is any random activity--but it’s probably easier to control your voice than your skin.

Akira nods mutely. The sudden absence of Akechi’s body gives him room to breathe, but it also brings back the mild agony of waiting. He just stands around awkwardly while Akechi unrolls the futon, each second dragging on. 

In terms of actual time, it doesn’t take very long for Akechi to finish. The futon’s laid out on the floor, blanket pushed aside, pillow slightly askew. Akira’s suddenly hit with the awareness that this is where Akechi _lives._ He sleeps here every night, he wakes up here every morning, he probably has some kind of routine, like any normal person does. It’s a profoundly surreal thought that Akechi has an everyday that probably isn’t very interesting. 

“Well,” Akechi says, and gestures towards it. “Shall we?”

Akira follows him over. It feels like there should be some--mad passion to this, people falling into bed together, unable to keep their hands off each other for even a second, but this is practically mechanical. He kneels on the futon, unsure if he should--lie down, or--

Akechi’s watching him again. A long moment of silence stretches out. Akira wonders if he should say something, or if Akechi’s going to say something, or there’s something he should be doing.

Maybe Akechi comes to some conclusion, or maybe he’s just tired of the stillness. “Just lie down,” he says. He doesn’t sound frustrated, so that’s good, at least. And it’s an easy direction. Relieved, Akira eases down onto the futon, and finds himself looking up at Akechi, who’s crouched next to him. Another second of silence, and then Akechi shifts over and brackets Akira with his arms, not quite straddling him, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression.

Again that tiny thought flits through Akira’s head: _maybe this wasn’t a great idea._ Not that Akechi’s like, holding a knife or anything, but being physically vulnerable around someone who once concocted an elaborate plan to murder you just seems a little. Not great?

Shut _up,_ stop _thinking._

Akechi leans down, lowers himself, and then it’s not easier to stop thinking but it is at least easier to stop thinking about murder, because Akechi’s tongue seems very determined to explore every inch of Akira’s mouth and it turns out that being pressed together while standing up is a very different experience from someone pressing you down.

One of Akechi’s hands fists in Akira’s hair. Akira shudders a little, tries to be an active participant in the kiss, but everything he does seems clumsy and it’s just…easier to not even try. 

Then he remembers wanting it to be Akechi’s decision, the cowardly logic of wanting to shift blame onto someone else instead of accepting his own desires, and he abruptly feels kind of pathetic. Letting Akechi do everything is just another form of that, isn’t it? 

And--he’s not really enjoying this all that much, is he. It’s not _bad,_ but being paralyzed by uncertainty isn’t fun. There’s already too much potential for regret here; what’s the point if he doesn’t get anything out of it at all? 

It’s okay to be nervous and not know what he’s doing. It’s _okay._ Akechi’s not gonna care. Akechi’d probably prefer it if he was more active, anyway. God, if this continues Akechi might make some remark about rivals needing to be close to equals, and Akira _really_ doesn’t want to talk about that right now, so just do _something._

He hooks one leg around Akechi’s hips, drives their erections together even more, and lets himself feel proud over the slight hitch in Akechi’s breath. It’s not a lot, but it’s something.

It goes on like that for a little more, increasingly enthusiastic kisses, Akira’s hands roaming over Akechi’s back, Akechi rocking into him. Even if not all that much has changed, it’s _so_ much better now that his thoughts aren’t spiraling down into discomfort. Pressure in Akira’s groin rises and builds more and more until he finally turns his head to the side and gasps, _“Pants,”_ and Akechi mumbles “Right” and pulls back enough that they can both fumble with their zippers. It’s the endearing kind of clumsy, passion interrupted by physics, and Akira almost wants to laugh at how different it feels from his earlier awkwardness.

Both sets of pants and underwear get hurriedly shucked off and tossed aside. Then there’s nothing in the way at all. They’re both naked, in bed, Akechi crouched half over Akira, and the situation is entirely foreign but for the first time tonight that doesn’t feel scary. Akechi definitely looks a lot more affected than he did earlier, hair mussed, breath heavy, pupils slightly blown. That helps, too. 

“You’re cute,” Akira says impulsively, almost unconsciously. Akechi’s face contorts, and Akira does laugh at that, pulls him back down for another kiss.

It’s much shorter this time. Akechi pulls back and says, still looking a little miffed, “Well, if you’re going to be like that,” and shifts, leans down and nips at Akira’s neck.

Akira inhales sharply. Against his skin, Akechi murmurs, “Don’t worry, I won’t leave anything the others can see.” Well. That’s thoughtful. The idea of the others seeing brings a mix of thrill and unease, and Akira really doesn’t want to have to deal with that.

Akechi moves a little lower, closer to Akira’s collarbone, well below what a scarf covers. Akira is abruptly thankful for the cold weather. Akechi nips again, harder this time, sucks at the skin until it feels abused. Akira’s breath comes out in little pants, and his fingers dig into Akechi’s shoulders, his toes curling and his groin aching.

And Akechi doesn’t _stop,_ moves slightly over and does it again, marks up Akira’s skin even more. Normally Akira doesn’t really like riling Akechi up, but it seems like it’s just a matter of context for it to be a great idea.

Akira’s almost out of his mind by the time Akechi finally finishes, the beginnings of little bruises peppering Akira’s lower neck like freckles. Akechi looks distinctly smug when he resurfaces, but also even more disheveled, and Akira suddenly feels a deep, ridiculous surge of affection. _I like you so much,_ he thinks. _I probably shouldn’t, but I do._ He gives a big crooked grin, right at Akechi.

Akechi just looks nonplussed. “…you’re very strange,” he says.

“Whatever, you like it,” Akira says happily. Akechi doesn’t respond to that at all, which Akira kind of expected.

To fill the silence, Akira says, “So is there like, a main event, or are we just gonna keep doing this, because I’m cool with that.” There’s not any friction going on right now, but there was earlier, and he’s absolutely down with a return to that.

“A ‘main event’,” Akechi repeats, eyebrows raised. “Well, you did say you weren’t up for a lot, so…” He slides down, and Akira has a couple seconds to think _oh_ before Akechi’s mouth is on his cock.

He lets out a small gasp and almost claps a hand over his mouth before realizing the noises are probably part of the appeal. Akechi’s tongue swirls over the head of his cock, hot and wet and soft. One of Akechi’s hands is on his inner thigh and the other one holds the base of his cock, an oddly gentle grip. 

As Akechi continues his careful ministrations, Akira’s fingers dig into the futon. His breath comes out even harder than before, interspersed with little sounds, tiny moans and half-exhaled words and a few embarrassing whines. The grinding was plenty good on its own, but this is something else entirely. His face is burning, and he’s faintly surprised his blood can still reach it.

He looks down once, just briefly, but the obscene sight just makes his face burn more, and he squeezes his eyes shut instead. Cautiously, he rests one of his hands on Akechi’s head. He doesn’t push, or grip his hair, or anything; it seems risky when he doesn’t actually know what Akechi’s into. Petting would be _really_ weird. He settles for running his fingers through Akechi’s hair, which is a lot softer than he expected. Akechi’s only reaction to that is a hum, which sends another jolt of pleasure through Akira and elicits another whine. Akira has the distinct impression that if Akechi’s mouth wasn’t occupied right now, he’d be smiling.

Akechi runs his tongue across the entire length of Akira’s cock before taking the head and a fair bit more besides into his mouth. The enveloping heat is too much; the pressure in Akira’s groin reaches a crest, and he manages to babble out, “Wait, I’m gonna--” before a moan tears from his throat and he comes, fingers unconsciously digging into Akechi’s scalp.

Akechi takes it in stride, swallowing with no apparent complaint. He even licks the last drops off the head of Akira’s cock. As Akechi leans back, Akira opens his eyes again, and sees Akechi wiping his mouth across the back of his hand. His lips are redder than before, and slightly shiny. He glances up at Akira and says, drily, “I take it that was suitable?”

Being post-orgasm apparently makes Akira slightly uninhibited in his speech, because he says, “You’re such a _dork,”_ before grabbing Akechi’s shoulders and pulling him up for a messy kiss. It tastes kinda weird. “That tastes kinda weird,” he says, afterwards.

“Yeah, sure,” Akechi says flatly. “I’m a what now?”

Akira gestures vaguely. “You know,” he says. Being post-orgasm also apparently makes words a little more difficult. “You were a jerk earlier, and now you’re sort of nice, but in kind of a jerky way? I don’t know. It’s nice.” He does at least have the wherewithal to not say _I think I’m into it._

“I see.” Akechi looks unimpressed. Or maybe that’s just one of his default expressions these days.

To prevent himself from saying anything stupider, Akira says, “Okay, my turn,” and shimmies out from underneath Akechi, who now looks somewhat surprised. What, did he think Akira was just gonna leave him? That’d kind of defeat half the point of this.

After a moment, Akechi does turn over and settle on his back, looking at Akira with wary expectation. Maybe he thinks Akira won’t be any good at it? Which is a fair assumption, but Akira isn’t sure it’s really possible to give a _bad_ blowjob unless you get teeth involved, and that seems a little advanced for him. 

Akira repositions himself between Akechi’s legs. Honestly, half the reason he’s going straight for this is because the adrenaline rush is still overpowering his nervousness; if he gives himself time to think about it, he might start spiraling down again. No time to try to psych himself up, either. He gets to eye level with Akechi’s cock, doesn’t think about anything else, and takes the head of it into his mouth.

It tastes like skin, mostly. He puts his hands on the same places Akechi did, since that seemed to work. Tentatively, his tongue encircles it, exploring its shape. He hears Akechi’s breath get slightly shaky, but doesn’t look up, can’t risk breaking concentration.

He isn’t sure how much of it he can take in his mouth at once. Trying too much seems like it might be embarrassing if he can’t handle it, and he might not be quite as competitive as Akechi but there’s still a certain degree of not wanting to be _too_ much worse at something than he is. So Akira does what he can, laps at Akechi’s cock in what he hopes is a sufficiently enjoyable manner.

One of Akechi’s hands rests on his head. He strokes Akira’s hair a little, almost fondly. Akira has a brief but intense internal debate before pulling back and saying, not looking at Akechi’s face at all, “Uh, could you pull my hair a little?”

Akechi doesn’t say anything for several seconds. When he does, his voice is on the rough side, and all he says is, “Okay.”

“Okay,” Akira repeats, and gets back to what he was doing, his face feeling like it’s on fire.

Akechi’s hand in his hair is cautious, at first. Just a slight pull that Akira can barely feel. Then a little harder, and the pinpricks of pain in his scalp light up his senses, sends a shiver of something indefinable down his spine. He tries to take more of Akechi’s cock into his mouth, maybe almost too much more; Akechi hisses _“Fuck”_ and his grip on Akira’s hair tightens sharply, and the jolt of that combined with the increasingly blocked airway makes Akira gag a little. He can’t tell if Akechi notices. For a moment, he kind of hopes Akechi does notice but continues anyway.

Heady as the psychological cocktail of vaguely-negotiated pain and questionable decisions is, though, it doesn’t last forever. Akechi’s grip spasms, and he spills into Akira’s throat, far back enough that it almost misses Akira’s tongue. The weird taste is a lot stronger now that there’s more of it. Akira pulls back--Akechi’s grip relaxes as he does, which he has mixed feelings about--and manages to swallow. His mouth feels sore. He wonders how disheveled he looks.

He looks up. Akechi’s half-propped up on one elbow, staring at him, pupils blown. “…I don’t understand you at all,” Akechi says.

Akira grins crookedly. “I don’t either,” he replies. His voice isn’t quite hoarse, but it’s getting there. Maybe next time.

He pulls himself up, settling on his side next to Akechi. His scalp still aches a little, but even that feels good in a way he’s not going to examine yet. He feels sweaty and kind of drained but also totally buzzed, still riding the adrenaline high. Like a hundred successful brawls all at once, or escaping a collapsing Palace, or walking out of the interrogation room. 

Akechi leans in for another kiss, this one slow and soft, almost sweet. Akira’s nerves are mostly settled, but they skitter up a bit, waiting on tenterhooks for Akechi to say something like _Well, I’ll call a cab for you_ or _Door’s on your left_ or _That was terrible, get out of my apartment._

Instead, when Akechi withdraws, looking into Akira’s eyes, all he says, quietly, is, “Earlier, you asked me what I wanted from you. I believe it’s your turn to answer that question.”

Akira doesn’t know what degree of honesty would work here. Pipe dream territory is probably too much, but underplaying it might give a false impression. Being glib probably isn’t a good idea either. Eventually, he settles on, “Whatever you’re willing to give.”

Akechi snorts. “Of course you’d try to weasel out of it. What do you _want,_ Joker. What’s your ideal situation here, not what scraps you’ll tragically accept.”

Akechi’s eyes pierce into him. If there was ever any hint of vulnerability, it’s locked down now. 

Akira swallows. “Are you really gonna make me say it?” he says softly.

For a long moment, Akechi doesn’t say anything at all. Then he rolls onto his back and sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “I suppose I’ve no need to humiliate you,” he says. “Have your own childish dreams if you want. I certainly can’t stop you.”

Something twinges in Akira’s chest. He knows it isn’t realistic, but--it’s okay to want things, even if you know you’re unlikely to get them.

“Why you would even want that in the first place is beyond me,” Akechi says. His voice is perfectly flat and even, betraying no reaction at all.

 _Because you’re the one that brought it up, and I know what it’s like to not be able to admit you want something,_ Akira doesn’t say. _And I don’t think you’re as bitter and jaded as you’re pretending to be, and you’re smart and cute and funny and you own two Star Wars posters. I’ve helped so many people over the past year and I want to help you too. Even if I can’t fix all of your problems, I want to try with the ones I can. Even if all of this is really messy and I haven’t figured out how I’m going to explain it to my friends yet I really like you, and I think you like me. And I really like kissing you._

Instead, he says, “Just lucky, I guess,” and shifts over to rest his head on Akechi’s shoulder.

They stay like that for a while, quiet and still and warm.

Akira tries to imagine the future. It isn’t amazing. After they restore reality Akechi’s going to prison, and any conversations they can have will be with guards standing by, which isn’t conducive to emotional intimacy for anyone but especially not for someone who can barely admit to having positive feelings at all. 

…after that, though, maybe. His sentence will end eventually. And life’s still gonna kinda suck for him but maybe Akira can help with that? Maybe there _will_ be more of this if Akira just waits long enough. 

Maybe that time will be enough to get everyone else used to the idea. 

But trying to talk about any of that is a one-way ticket to Akechi shutting down the conversation and leaving a chilly silence for the rest of the night, so Akira doesn’t.

Eventually, after a long time, Akechi says, “We can talk about it when all of this is over.”

Akira sits up. A brief flare of hope rises in his chest, and is extinguished when he sees Akechi’s face. Akechi doesn’t look begrudging or content or anything promising. He just looks…kind of tired.

“Okay,” Akira says, not sure how else to respond. He lies back down, disquieted.

Akechi yawns and gets up to hit the light switch. When it’s dark, he settles back down and reaches over to grab the blanket, pulling it over both of them. “Get some sleep, Joker,” he says. “I’m sure you’ve got something to do tomorrow.”

Akira doesn’t, really. Akechi turns away from him, closing his eyes. For a while, Akira just watches him.

 _When all of this is over,_ he thinks.

He closes his eyes.

\---

Things happen after that, too.

\---

Akira tries everything he fucking knows after he sees that stupid figure on the platform.

Calls to Akechi’s number don’t pick up. Texts-- _I know that was you you asshole answer me--_ aren’t even left on read. Texting Sumire to see if she saw anything, and texting the group chat to ask them to check out the station, both result in nothing. Akira’s on the train back to his home town and he won’t be able to do anything about it for _hours._

Morgana, observing him practically tearing his hair out in the seat, says, a little nervously, “It probably wasn’t even him. That’s a school uniform, lots of other students wear it.”

“I _know_ it was him,” Akira insists. “Yusuke says practically no one from Kosei wears the full uniform in weather like this.”

 _“Practically_ no one,” Morgana says. “You really think Akechi would, what, stalk your schedule and wait for the exact moment your train leaves to walk past the window?”

Akira gives him a look.

“…okay, but I still don’t think it was him,” Morgana says.

“It _felt_ like him,” Akira says. “Like…Metaverse stuff.” Which is another big fucking question but hey, one at a time.

Morgana flicks his tail. “Even if it was him, what’re you gonna do about it?” he asks. “You can’t just go right back to Tokyo and run around until you find him.”

Akira slumps back in his seat. He’s tempted to say _Just watch me_ but Morgana’s right, it’s not practical. There’s really nothing he can do besides keep asking the others to keep a look out, and if Akechi doesn’t want to be found, that probably won’t do anything besides waste their time.

He sends one last text, then puts his phone away, takes a deep breath, and tries to take a nap.

 **Akira:** I’ve still got your stupid glove

\---

The next day, Akira’s phone receives an image of a small table a few feet away from a microphone stand. On it sits a glass of something green and bubbly.

 **Akechi:** Keep it.

That’s all it says. Akira almost throws his phone at the wall.

 _I signed up for this,_ he reminds himself.

It’s not a rejection. Akechi’s alive, and still thinking about him, and Akira spent the last month assuming neither of those things would ever happen again, so really, it could be a lot worse.

There are a lot of ways Akira could respond to that. Ultimately, he goes with:

 **Akira:** You’re a very frustrating person. I missed you.

This time, at least, there are on-and-off typing bubbles for a good two minutes before it’s left on read. 

Akira finds himself smiling at that. Morgana’s in another room, and his parents are out, so no one’s there to wonder about it; he flops down onto the living room couch and lets a big goofy grin overtake him. He’s allowed to be happy about this--he’s allowed to be angry, too, but he’s done that already. He’s got a lot of questions about a lot of things and the entire situation is weird and difficult and a little fucked up but right now, he’s so, so _happy._

He’ll deal with all that other stuff later. Right now, he lets himself drift in a memory of something quiet and still and warm, and distant hopes that seem a lot less distant.

In a club in far-away Tokyo, Akechi puts his phone down and, after a huff of breath, has a small smile of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [Tumblr](http://www.futuresoon.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/futuresoonest).


End file.
